Second Time Around
by LaLopez1981
Summary: Bucky Barnes, disgraced soldier, former drug addict, and disappointing son, is trying to get his life back on track. Through a dating app, he meets someone he's sexually compatible with, not expecting to see him after their one night together. He takes a job at the local supermarket, at the urging of his parents and best friend Steve, and meets a familiar face on his first day.
1. Thirty-Six Days Later

**A/N: Hello, readers! So, I know up to this point all of my stories have been FrostIron, and this is my first foray into something a little different. This fic is WinterFrost (Bucky Barnes + Loki) and Tony is pretty much non-existent. So I hope you give it a chance, even if it's not something you're used to. It is AU, so no Winter Soldier, no God of Mischief, but again, I hope you enjoy another little romance from my crazy brain. And I will do my best with updates, but life and school and such make that hard to keep up with sometimes. =/**

**XOXO, LaLa**

* * *

The August sun was blazing down, overheating the concrete of the sidewalks and the black pavement of the parking lot, when James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes stepped through the sliding doors of the pristine white medical building. He slipped a dark pair of shades over his sleepy ice blue eyes and idly wished he hadn't worn a black t-shirt and dark jeans. But he had always favored dark colored clothes. He took a deep breath, and though the air was thick and hot, he was just grateful to be outdoors for the first time in over a month.

A car horn sounded and an old station wagon pulled up to the curb. Bucky saw a female hand push out from behind the lowered window and wave him over, followed by his mother's overly sweet voice saying, "Yoo-hoo! Bucky, dear!"

A little embarrassed, Bucky gave a small wave back and turned to the orderly that had escorted him out, shook his hand, and laughed at the man's attempt at humor when he told Bucky to _not_ call or write or visit.

He picked up his duffel bag of personal items from the bench he stood next to and headed to the station wagon, where both of his parents now stood outside the car, waiting for him. They both welcomed him with a hug; his mother's, as usual, feeling just a bit more genuine than his father's. They all climbed back into the car and started the drive back to their quiet little town, a couple hour's drive.

Bucky stared out the window, blankly watching the world pass by, barely listening to his mother rattle on, filling him in on everything that had happened while he was cooped up in a rehabilitation facility for the past thirty-six days. Intermittently, he brought a cigarette to his lips and inhaled the rich taste of tobacco and smoke. Apparently, nothing much had changed; summer block parties were had, recent graduates both left for college and returned from it—nothing Bucky really missed out on. But the big story of the week, and likely for the rest of what was left of the summer, was about the bravery and courage of the town's favorite war hero, Captain Steve Rogers; who also happened to be Bucky's best friend.

The Army captain had been going on his daily jog one morning, running from one part of town to another, and back. He often liked to run alongside the ravine that crossed through the city, as it veered away from the heaviest parts of traffic. It just so happened on this particular morning, a young girl had fallen into the ravine, chasing after her ball and couldn't climb back out, after twisting her ankle. Steve had heard her cries, climbed down and carried her, and her ball, to the nearest medical office, and saved the day.

Bucky's mother fed the tale to him, sounding as prideful as a mother hen. Rightfully so, though, as she had taken on the role of parent after Steve's mother died when he was just eighteen, not long after both he and Bucky had left to join the army. Her death left his childhood friend an orphan, as his father had died when he was barely out of toddlerhood.

Bucky leaned his head back against the red leather bench seat of the station wagon, concentrating on his breathing, exhaling long plumes of smoke, letting those pesky feelings of resentment and hurt seep from him, like a drop of water sliding down his back to eventually dissipate in darkness somewhere. His mother always spoke of Steve in high regard. And why shouldn't she? The guy was the shining example of the all-American good guy.

He and Bucky had grown up around each other, but didn't become friends until Bucky rescued Steve from a bully in the fourth grade. Steve was a short, skinny, asthmatic kid while Bucky had always been a bit robust and tall for his age. But around the tenth grade puberty kicked in and Steve shot up several inches, outgrew the asthma, and joined any sport he could. Maybe it was because he had grown up with a single, working mom, but Steve had always had a decent goodness about him, and rarely got into trouble. Once he had filled out in all the right places, he was always having to fight off the girls.

It never bothered Bucky to be known as the wilder one of the pair; to be dubbed "the bad boy," particularly since he favored wearing dark clothes, leather jackets, and always had a cigarette in his mouth or behind his ear. Where Steve had the blond hair and blue eyes all the girls swooned over, Bucky had the darker, wild, unkempt hair and could almost be dubbed swarthy. The fact that he preferred his dates to be of the male persuasion also made things less competitive between the friends.

It would have been easy to blame Steve for all of his insecurities, all the things that went wrong in his life, like the inability to please his parents. But Bucky knew his issues with them were his own. He was the one who couldn't find his focus on anything and got mediocre grades in school; he _chose_ to ditch class every once in awhile to smoke pot behind the music building. Though, he did give in to his parents' pressure to do more with his life than be a bag boy at the local grocery store, and followed Steve into the army, straight out of high school.

He had looked forward to it at the time, thinking a more structured life was exactly what he needed. But the army was just a repeat of high school. Steve was the fastest, the strongest, the most well-behaved. Bucky's association with him only highlighted their differences in the eyes of their superiors and fellow soldiers, and that age-old question was being thrown at him still: "Why can't you be more like Steve?"

They had been sent to Afghanistan, in the same unit, but Steve had moved up in the ranks faster than Bucky. Steve flourished, Bucky faltered. He supposed he just wasn't mentally prepared for what they were walking into. And to cope he turned to a fellow soldier who provided him with exactly what he needed to forget his inadequacies as a soldier; easy drugs and meaningless sex.

But the high, from both, only lasted so long. And inevitably, someone found out about the drugs. He was dishonorably discharged because of the drugs, and because he was soliciting himself to get them, since he had no money, and sent home. He couldn't hide it from his parents; the Army had already informed them. His father could barely look at him when he had come back. That was hard to face. But he understood where his father's disappointment came from, being a war vet himself. Bucky was ordered to go to a rehabilitation facility and did. His mother visited every week, alone, and made him the most popular patient by bringing assorted cookies and pastries with her.

He had completed his rehab, but didn't know where to go from there. He had spent the last three years overseas, and was plagued with horrifying nightmares, reminders, of his time there. His parents had welcomed him home—at least, his mother had—and he spent the majority of his time roaming around town, looking for a job. He had done odd repair jobs here and there, always having been good with his hands, but no one was willing to give him a more permanent, steadier job.

Then things started to go bad again.

A horn honk and the car slamming to a halt had Bucky catapulting out of his reverie. His father was yelling at the black car that went speeding down the street, and that must have caused his father to have to put on the brakes so hard. His mother calmed him and they went on their way again.

"Bucky, dear, what do you think?"

Bucky sat up a little, searching back in his mind for what his mother may have been referring to, and tossed the short stub of his spent cigarette out the window. "I don't know," he answered vaguely.

"Oh, honey, I wish you think about it. It will keep you busy, give you something to do so you don't…"

Bucky looked away from the window toward the front of the car and just caught the exchange of a telling look between his parents. "Wait. What are you talking about?"

"The job, dear. At the market."

"You want me to go back to working at the market?!" Bucky leaned forward, forgetting he was strapped into the seat.

"Well, Bucky…" His mother turned as much as she could in her own seat to glance over her shoulder at him. "You have to do something with yourself."

"You're going to work there, Bucky," his father tossed in, finally joining the conversation. Bucky's chest was heaving with his angry, heavy breaths. He saw his father's thick fingers clench around the steering wheel and their eyes met in the rearview mirror. "It's time you got some control of your life."

"My life may not be as picture perfect as some people's, but I am _not_ going to spend mine bagging groceries!"

"_You're doing it!_" George Barnes rarely raised his voice. A former soldier himself, it was mostly ingrained in him to speak with respect whether he was having a conversation with his wife, his dentist, or his unruly son. He was a quiet, patient man by nature, but when he reached his boiling point, there was no safe haven in sight. Even now, as an adult, Bucky cowered, crumpled like a piece of tin foil, under that stern order. "I'm sick and tired of this, Bucky."

George's voice had calmed, and his wife Winnie, beside him, breathed a quiet sigh of relief. But Bucky could still hear the tension in it.

"We try with you. We're patient with you. Your mother doesn't deserve this."

Guilt washed over Bucky, like a waterfall cascading over a deteriorating rock. Barely ten minutes on the outside and things were already looking grim. He let his head fall back on the car seat, rolled it to blankly stare out of his window with reddened eyes, reluctantly filling with tears. Absently, a finger on one hand traced the scar on the wrist of the other.

"Monday morning, eight am, you will be at Ivan's market. You won't be bagging groceries, but you _will_ work, Bucky. I won't have you laying around just to get into trouble again, you get me? Because the next time, that's it. You won't have a place to come back to."

Bucky's eyelids fluttered closed and a tear silently rolled down his cheek.

"And you're going with us tonight. Steve is your closest friend and he's done something honorable. You'll be there to congratulate him. Got it? I'm sure I've got a nice suit that you can borrow."

"I have a suit," he responded noncommittally.

In honor of the town's pride, Captain Steve Rogers, and his incredible act of bravery, the town's council was hosting a celebratory dinner for him and honoring him with a plaque of honor. And apparently, Bucky was attending.

* * *

Bucky sat, perched on a high stool at the bar in the ballroom of the biggest hotel in town, sipping from a glass of Coke, watching as people continuously descended upon Steve, bombarding him with praise. If he had paid the bartender a few extra bucks to "accidentally" spill some Jack Daniels in his glass, who was to know?

If his parents hadn't been fawning all over his best friend, like everyone else, they, in all probability, would have been upset he chose to park himself in the one place he likely should not have been. And his counselors probably wouldn't have been too jazzed that only days after leaving rehab—for a substance addiction, among other things—he reached for something else to fill that emptiness gnawing at him from the inside out.

There had been a formal ceremony earlier in the evening, when Steve was handed over the key to the city, by Mayor Coulson himself. The local high school, Bucky and Steve's alma mater, sent over a downsized ensemble from their marching band to entertain throughout the night. Bucky smiled and applauded at the appropriate times. And despite what his expression may convey, he was quite proud of his friend.

Steve Rogers was practically a superhero. There wasn't much the man couldn't do that wouldn't make the city proud. Still, Bucky had had to hold back his groan when Steve announced, as a part of his gracious thank you speech, that his beautiful Peggy had told him only that morning that they were expecting their first child.

Perfect.

With the knowledge that his mother would now start on him about grandchildren of her own, or dote on that kid as much as she did Steve, the ex-soldier had slipped into the background and toward the bar to get himself properly buzzed. As slowly as possible, to deal with these people, this place, until he could escape from the suffocating event. That was how Bucky always felt; as if he were suffocating. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think; not when anything and everything was Steve this and Steve that. His own home was not even a refuge from it. Not when Steve's biggest fans were his own fucking parents.

"Hey, slick. Get me another glass," Bucky nearly growled out. He felt the anger, the resentment; the panic that he was falling further and further into that dark abyss he wouldn't be able to crawl out of, starting to drown him. He wouldn't be close to that point if he could just get a little more alcohol.

"Sorry, _slick_," came the bartender's tart response. Bucky turned troubled, heavy-lidded eyes to the older gentleman behind the bar. "I can get you another Coke, but that's it. I'm afraid you've been cut off."

Bucky shot up from the wall he had been leaning against. "What? By who?"

"Me."

The former addict sighed heavily at the sound of his friend's deep voice coming from behind him. He turned his head just enough to glance at the tall, broad-shouldered man. "Who asked you to do that?" Steve pressed his lips together and gave a nod to the bartender, who took his cue and wandered away to help the other guests approaching the bar. Bucky saw him move out of the corner of his eye and slapped a hand to the bar top. "Hey, I didn't get my drink!"

"Bucky." Steve's voice was calm, his hand firm as he placed it on the dark-haired man's shoulder. Bucky jerked away so Steve would release him.

"What?" he snapped.

The blond grinned politely. "Why don't you come sit with us? Come talk to Peggy and me."

"No, thanks. I'm good here." Bucky knew he was being petty and juvenile. It wasn't Steve's fault he was such a fuck-up; that was all on him. But he couldn't help the resentment surging through him, making him feel that deep-seated urge to destroy everything in his path.

"You haven't spoken to us all night," Steve pointed out quietly. It likely wasn't his intention to guilt-trip Bucky, but what the fuck did intent matter when it still made his gut twist painfully? "I would like to catch up with you. Maybe you could tell us about your new job. I'd like to know how you're doing?"

"You wanna know how I'm doing?" Bucky questioned bitterly, spinning himself around to lean back against the bar. Of course _he_ knew about the stupid job. Now that Bucky thought about it, he wouldn't be surprised if Steve had to vouch for him. It wasn't easy for a disgraced ex-soldier battling drug addiction to get a foot in the door. "I'd be doing a lot better if I could get a goddamn drink." He watched Steve's soft blue eyes search his face—fuck if he knew for what—and his smooth brow crinkle with what had to be concern.

"Maybe you should ease up on the drinking, buddy. Have another Coke instead; a straight Coke. Or, better yet, have some iced tea. I hear they make a mean lemonade." He smiled hopefully at his old friend and Bucky never wanted to punch someone in the face more than he did Steve at that moment.

His jaw muscles clenched as he picked up his glass which still contained a few melting cubes of ice and a small amount of liquid. He made the cubes rattle as he shook the glass at Steve. "This _was_ Coke. Now it's watered down rum and coke." He tipped back the remaining dregs of alcohol and soda, his eyes defiantly never wavering from Steve's, then set the glass down on the bar again. The sharp smack it made drew a few curious gazes to the two men.

"Bucky—"

"I have a mother, Stevie." He stared at his oldest friend, feeling utterly inadequate and insubstantial next to him. When Steve's lids fluttered and hurt swept across those baby blues, shame came gushing forward, right past the guilt. He sighed shortly with the heaviness of it. "Just leave me alone," he mumbled, turning away again.

Steve reached for him once more, speaking his name softly and almost with a plea. But Bucky wanted none of his pity. In a fit of impatience, he slipped his arm from Steve's loose grasp and shoved the man away. Caught off guard, Steve stumbled back and fell into another man, who lurched forward, landing on a table, knocking someone's drink and a glass vase to the floor with a loud crash. Bucky froze as the music stopped and every eye in the room fell on him. He could hear the gasps and scandalized murmuring spread across the room and he pushed a hand through his dark hair.

"Steve…"

Steve righted himself and immediately reached down to help the man he had fallen on get to his feet, and handed a cloth napkin to the woman whose feet had been doused with the water from the vase. George pushed through the crowd, Winnie close behind him, and skidded to a halt. He gasped softly at the mess of broken glass and trampled flowers and glared at Bucky. "What did you do?"

Typical.

"It wasn't his fault," Steve said hastily. Both George and Bucky looked at him with identical sets of confused blue eyes. "It was mine. I, I just stumbled."

"You don't have to lie for him, Steve." The sole movement in the room was Bucky's head whipping around to stare at his father. "He clearly isn't in his right mind. I can smell him from here."

"George, stop." Winnie wrapped her fingers around her husband's elbow and tried to pull him away. "Not here."

"Why not?" he shouted, ignoring his wife's cue to speak softly and not draw attention. "He obviously doesn't care about his own behavior. He's making a fool out of himself in front of the entire community!"

"I didn't do anything!" Bucky hollered at his father, cutting off Steve, who had again tried to defend him. He scoffed at the horrified look on George's face and gritted his teeth. "Why do I even bother? Why let me come back home when I'm not the one you want there?"

"Bucky, please don't start this right now," Winnie begged, stepping forward, in front of her husband. She tried to move further, closer to him, but George snagged her back. She aimed a hard look at him before turning back to Bucky. "Sweetheart, let's go home and talk, okay? It's fine. No one got hurt. Just a few shards of glass. Maybe you just…need some rest."

"Rest? You think rest is gonna fix _this_?" George yanked Winnie back, moving her behind him. "Get out of here. Go home and sober up. Leave me and your mother to clean up your mess. Again."

Bucky felt the jab straight to his heart and forced himself to keep it together, to hold back the tears threatening to blind and choke him. His father was never going to let him forget just how low he had gotten. He fought not to blink, lest the tears did fall. One escaped anyway when he glanced down as Steve approached him, taking his arm and squeezing lightly.

"Bucky. Maybe it would be best if you went home now," he whispered to his oldest friend. "I'll come by tomorrow. And we'll talk. Let me talk them down, okay?"

He laughed. It was all he could do. He brought a hand to his nose in the guise of pinching the bridge in frustration, but discreetly cleared away his tears instead. "Don't bother, Stevie," he said on a mirthless laugh, tilting back his head to look up at the man. "They don't give a shit about me anymore anyway." He stepped back, grinning darkly at them all. "Not as long as they've got _you_ to brag about."

He started out of the room, walking backwards, smirking darkly, his laugh growing more and more. With a final mock salute to Steve, Bucky kicked open the double doors open and walked out.

* * *

**2nd A/N: Comments, reviews, suggestions are very welcomed. I'd really like to know what people think. Thanks so much! XOXO**


	2. If You're Lonely, If You're Bored

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I know it's a departure for some and it's a very small ship. But thanks for giving it a chance. :)**

**XOXO, LaLa**

* * *

The incident at the hotel didn't completely kill Bucky's buzz. But it did make him even more aware of all the heavy emotions making his insides hurt. Just his luck, there was a gas station just down the street, within walking distance, that he made his way to and purchased his own bottle of vodka, instead of whiskey, and a new pack of cigarettes. The cashier tried to make small talk—apparently, they had gone to school together—but Bucky wasn't in the mood to be genial and friendly. All he really wanted was to drown himself in alcohol. And maybe get laid. He hadn't had sex in some time; he couldn't remember the last time, that's how long it had been.

His parents weren't 100% accepting of his homosexuality, so bringing dates home wasn't exactly ideal. Maybe it was because he didn't sit them down and make a big deal about coming out to them. His father found out when he came home from work and found Bucky with the captain of the JV wrestling team, practicing some moves. That they were half-naked, and alone in his bedroom, meant Bucky couldn't really lie about what they were doing.

So. He liked boys. That was it. He had realized when he was younger that he didn't quite see girls the way the other boys had. It became clear to him why when, in junior high, he found himself constantly having to fight untimely erections in the boys' locker room. It wasn't until high school that he had really started to explore that facet of his sexuality. He didn't sneak around with boys because he was afraid of someone finding out; he was on the wrestling team and knew how to defend himself. Usually it was the boy he was sneaking around with that wanted to keep it quiet. He didn't care either way.

There was never anyone serious. It was all fun and games in high school, and more so later, in the military. And when he returned home, a disgraced soldier, he took to finding random, anonymous hookups and having discreet one-night stands. It worked for him this way. A relationship would only add to his laundry list of failures. He didn't need to let down another person in his life.

Tonight, Bucky didn't want to go home. At all. He strolled the sidewalks of the main drag of the city, not terribly busy at this time of night. Especially since everyone of importance was at the hotel for Steve, and the majority of the businesses closed by ten o'clock. Thinking of his friend brought on a fresh wave of guilt and anger as he crossed the street, meandering into the local park. It wasn't fenced in, thankfully. Nor was it terribly lit at night. Instead of sitting at one of the hard stone benches littered across the greens, Bucky decided to drop onto a swing at one of the playgrounds dotted across the city-operated land. He swung a little, gulping from the bottle, and pulled out a cigarette. After lighting it, and taking a deep drag from it, Bucky pulled out his phone, scrolling through the different screens to find the app he was looking for.

Technology had made finding one-night stands so much easier these days. He set the bottle on the ground, lazily rocking on the heels and balls of his feet, as he smoked and searched through the dating app's offerings. Bucky didn't have a particular type. He didn't have a preference for hair color or eye color; as long as the equipment worked, Bucky was good to go. He flicked his finger up the screen of his phone, browsing different pictures. Occasionally, he would see one that would briefly catch his eye, but inevitably he would pass. He was on a hunt for something he wasn't even sure existed.

He kept scrolling until one picture in particular drew his attention.

It made him chuckle. Most profile pictures were of faces or bathroom shots from the waist up, with the occasional dick or ass shot thrown in. But this one… Bucky briefly wondered if it was professionally done. It was taken at a high angle, overhead; in fact, his face wasn't even visible. Just the top of the blackest, shiniest head of hair he'd ever seen and an absurdly long, pale torso that faded off into what looked like a pair of dark, worn denim. And the information on the profile was sparse, to say the least. No real name, just an initial, no age. And a location—he wasn't in town, but he wasn't terribly far either—and the option to send him a message.

Bucky was intrigued. He debated for exactly two-point-five seconds before typing up a quick message, asking if he wanted to meet up that night, then quickly returned to scroll through more pictures. He hadn't expected a quick response, and figured he would look for a backup hookup, but when his phone buzzed with an alert, he couldn't help but smile.

The man had sent a brief greeting and asked for Bucky's details before he would agree to meet up. Bucky made his response just as brief—dark hair, blue eyes, almost six foot, athletic build. The next response took a little longer; Bucky swung lazily back and forth, taking a few short swigs from the clear bottle of vodka, spilling some of it down the front of his dress shirt when his phone finally buzzed in his hand.

The guy was willing to meet up with him, and was asking when and where. Bucky didn't have to ponder over it; he often met with strangers at a local motel on the outskirts of the town, and sent off the directions. Bucky picked up his bottle, tossed away the stub of his cigarette, and started the walk to the motel. He realized he didn't know the guy's name, but he hadn't been asked for his either, so he just brushed it off. At the hotel, he whipped out the one credit card he had, and paid for a room, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant. As he left the front desk, he messaged the room number to the other man, his stomach jumping a little in excitement. His phone buzzed again. He was on his way.

Once in the room, Bucky freshened up, quickly showering to wash away the stink of the alcohol and the cigarettes from his body and his mouth, and to clear his head. Dressed again in his undershirt and the dress pants, he was drying his hair with a towel when he heard a soft knock on the door. With a soft grin, Bucky padded barefoot to the door and yanked it open. And went perfectly still.

The picture did the guy no justice. He had long black hair that fell just past his shoulders; his skin was pale, almost deathly white, made all the more so in contrast to his dark hair. He was dressed from head to toe in black leather, which Bucky found odd, considering they were still in the last month or so of summer. And he was young; younger than Bucky had expected.

He grinned lazily at Bucky, his brows bobbing once. "Are you—?"

"Yes." Bucky's arm snaked out, his hand fisting in the white t-shirt under the jacket and pulled the tall, slim figure into the room. He reached up, only a little, to kiss him, getting the door closed by slamming his body up against it.

The young man chuckled, his lips curving against Bucky's before the former soldier leaned back. "Well, then." He slid his fingers through Bucky's damp hair and pulled him close again, capturing his lips once more, lapping at them, curling his tongue to glide along his teeth, then reached down to gather up Bucky's shirt at his sides and pulled it over his head. He maneuvered them both toward the queen-sized bed, shoving Bucky down once they were close enough. Bucky chuckled as he bounced onto the bed and watched him gracefully slip his leather jacket from his shoulders and toss it to a chair in the corner. Every move, it seemed, was meant to entice, to seduce.

And it was working.

When he was close enough, Bucky placed his hands at his hips, drawing him even closer, widening his legs for him to stand between them. He could literally feel the warmth pulsating off the bulge between the man's legs and pressed his mouth to it, groaned into it, nearly nuzzling it. He lifted his eyes to look up, eyeing the man as he tugged down the zipper on the leather pants.

The man watched him, after removing his shirt, with eyes that could have been blue, could have been green, carding his fingers through Bucky's damp waves. "What is your name?"

Bucky nipped at the firm, toned skin of his lower abdomen, cocking a brow at the smooth British accent, then cupped him through the pants, massaging lightly. "Most people call me Bucky."

His head fell back, eyes closing on a soft moan. "Bucky…"

"And you?"

He lowered his eyes again, nearly black now. "I am Loki."

"Loki," Bucky repeated, curling his fingers around the band of his pants and giving them one sharp tug. Loki wasn't wearing anything underneath, so Bucky jerked back a little when his cock sprung free from its confines. _Damn_, was all he could think. Loki was bigger than most he had seen. Thick, long, uncut. Bucky grew fully hard himself in an instant.

Loki shifted the pants over his hips and thighs, until Bucky could push them down past his knees. "Are you simply going to stare at it all night?"

Bucky shot him a quick glance, smirking, before licking his lips and taking Loki's cock in his hand. He pushed the foreskin back from the head and wrapped his lips around it. Loki let out a low moan and slowly pushed forward, Bucky's lips stretching with each inch that passed through them. He pulled back, spitting into his hands to add some lubrication as he stroked. "Mm, fuck…"

Before Loki could speak, Bucky brought his cock to his mouth again, splaying his hands on Loki's narrow hips, guiding him further into his mouth, until he was nearly deep-throating the man. Once he felt the tip hit the back of his throat, Bucky pulled him out again, this time spitting directly on him, and took him into his mouth once more, finding a steady rhythm.

"Ssss…ohhh, yes…you certainly know how to use that tongue, Bucky."

He chuckled around his cock, making Loki shiver with the vibrations. It made him think of the first time he had ever gone down on a boy—behind the school's auto shop in his freshman year of high school. He had definitely improved since then. Getting back into the moment, and to give his throat a bit of a reprieve, Bucky pulled back again, biting his lip as he watched his own hand move back and forth along Loki's length. "You have a great cock."

Bucky's free hand twitched when Loki reached for it, folding down all but two of his fingers, and brought those two fingers to his mouth. His tongue poked out, long and pink, to slide between Bucky's fingers, curling around them both to draw them into his mouth, and he sucked, coating them with his saliva.

Bucky watched, mesmerized, his cock pressing into the zipper of his pants, throbbing painfully now, as Loki popped his fingers out from between his lips. "You've yet to see my ass," Loki murmured, as he moved Bucky's hand to said body part, pressing his wet fingers between his cheeks.

Bucky's eyes stayed lock on Loki's as his fingers pushed in further, eagerly seeking his hole. Upon finding it, he rubbed light circles around the tight muscle then slid them down to Loki's perineum. Loki sighed in pleasure, reaching down to stroke himself slowly. Bucky grinned again, liking the path this guy's thoughts were taking.

"Why don't you step out of these tighter-than-tight pants and let me get a closer look?" He ran his tongue suggestively across his lips when Loki opened his eyes to look down at him. Bucky dropped his hand when Loki stepped back to toe off one boot, pulled off the other, and slipped out of his jeans.

Bucky noted how comfortable Loki seemed being completely nude with a near-complete stranger. His lips twitched as he watched Loki move back toward the bed, toward him. He laid his hands on Bucky's shoulders and lowered his mouth to Bucky's for a brief, wet French kiss. Bucky made a soft noise of surprise, not expecting the move, but slid his hands up Loki's arms, tightening his hold around his biceps, and pulled him down to the bed with him.

He rolled them until Loki was beneath him, slipping a leg between both of his, and crushed his mouth to Loki's again. "Get on all fours," he breathed out heavily after breaking the rough kiss.

"Mmm…you don't waste time do you?"

"What's the point?" Bucky asked through a chuckle, rising and watching as Loki seductively shifted onto his knees. He slapped his hands to the round pale cheeks presented to him, making Loki yelp a little, then squeezed the firm muscle under his fingers. Bucky lowered his head to take a small, playful nip of Loki's ass before dragging his tongue over the bite and spread his cheeks to lick up along his hole. Loki moaned, rocking a little toward his mouth and shot Bucky a sexy, little smirk over his shoulder. Bucky returned the smile then dove in again.

He could hear Loki's gasps and groans filling the otherwise quiet room, as he worked his tongue over Loki's entrance, wiggling it in and out, building up his saliva and slowly pushing a finger through the tight muscle, meeting just a little resistance. Bucky reached up with his other hand to cup and stroke along Loki's length, flicking his tongue along his perineum and continued to drive his finger in and out of him. Loki squirmed and writhed against his hands and mouth, whining for more, and twisting his hands in the bedspread beneath him.

"Another," he demanded, reaching behind him, seeking Bucky's hand. Quickly, Bucky stuck his middle finger in his mouth to get it slick then leaned up so Loki could hear him speak.

"Are you sure?" he asked rubbing his wet fingers between Loki's cheeks.

"Yes. Do it. Please."

Bucky tilted his head in agreement, though Loki couldn't see, and with a slight wince of his own, he pushed both fingers past the loosened yet still tight entrance. It took a few more tries before Bucky could get both fingers through easily, but once he had Loki seemed about ready to come from his fingers alone. He whined and keened loudly and Bucky rubbed a soothing hand along the back of his thigh. "Feel good?"

"Nnghh…uh-huh," Loki answered, dropping his head to the bed. "Bucky. I'm ready…oh, gods…I'm ready."

"Okay." Bucky stood, quickly divested himself of his pants and boxer briefs, and snatched up the already opened condom packet on the nightstand, deftly rolling it on over his length. He gripped Loki's hips and moved him to the edge of the bed, lining him up with his cock. He pressed the head to Loki's entrance, teasing, then pushed in just the tip. "Mmm…you're still kinda tight…"

Loki shot him a hard look over his shoulder. "I'll be fine." As if to prove his point, Loki backed himself into Bucky, but his cock only slid up between his cheeks. Bucky chuckled, took his cock in his hand, and pushed himself into Loki.

"Ohh…fff…" He hissed as his cock was slowly enveloped in the heat of Loki's ass, smiling a little at Loki's high-pitched gasp.

"Yes, keep going, keep going…oh, my gods! You're so…big…_fuck_."

Bucky groaned, fighting the urge to simply drag Loki all the way back onto his cock and start fucking him hard. But Loki's little whines told him he was adjusting a little slower than he must have been used to.

"Don't drag it out, hmm?" He moaned sharply at the end of his question.

"I don't want to hurt you," Bucky muttered between clenched teeth, half of his cock now buried inside Loki.

"What if I _want_ you to hurt me?" Loki growled out, pushing back again.

Bucky's head fell back on a short laugh, his fingers gripping Loki's hips even tighter, knowing he was leaving his mark on the blemish-free pale skin. "Do you? You want it that bad?"

Loki turned his head again, his chin resting atop his shoulder, in the most sex-kittenish move Bucky had ever witnessed from a man. His lips curved before a low, throaty laugh passed through them. "Will you just shut up and fuck me already?"

His eyes locked on Loki's, Bucky brought them intimately together with one sharp tug. They both cried out; Bucky in triumph, Loki in what seemed like pained pleasure. Without waiting for him to adjust again, Bucky pulled his hips back, almost completely coming out of Loki, before slamming back in, and started a fast-paced rhythm.

Yes, this was exactly what he needed. To forget all his problems, all the stress; to forget how much everybody _loved_ Steve. How his own parents wished he was their son, instead of him. And the stupid. Fucking. Job. At. The. Grocery. Store.

Bucky hadn't realized he was pressing Loki into the mattress, fucking into him harder than he had probably fucked anyone before, until the exertion had sweat beading across his forehead and dripping into his eyes. He loosened his hold on Loki's hips and leaned back on his knees, making a face at the red marks his fingers had left framing the other man.

"Why have you stopped? I'm…I was enjoying myself."

"Heh…you like it rough, don't you?" Bucky wrapped his fingers around Loki's ankle and flipped him onto his back before he could answer. He pushed up his mile-long legs, setting them over his shoulders and brought him back to his cock again, trying to guide himself inside him once more.

"Perhaps I do like it rough," Loki panted, his torso shiny with seat. His cock, red and swollen, was pointing straight up between his legs, small beads of come glistening at the tip, begging for attention. Once Bucky was sheathed by his body again, he reached around Loki's slim thigh to begin stroking his length very slowly. "Mmm, yes…do you think you can handle it?"

Bucky only smirked and steadied himself on his knees, steeling for the next round of fucking, and tightened his grip around Loki's cock. "I think the better question is, can you?"

Loki's youthful face twisted in pain, his mouth falling open in a silent scream, as Bucky began another fast pace. He watched the pale form beneath him, arching and stretching, erotic sounds of pleasure emitting from him with every thrust, mixing with the sound of Bucky's balls slapping against his ass. Loki threw an arm up over his head, clutching the edge of the mattress in a death grip and Bucky moaned, feeling his hips lifting to meet his, driving him deeper into him. "Oh, right there, right there! Oh, yes. Oh, fuck me, fuck me hard. Oh!"

Bucky fell forward, balancing himself on his fists, fingers scrunched in the wrinkled mess of the bedspread on either side of Loki's slim body, and pumped his hips as fast as he could into Loki, in an erratic frenzy that grew faster and faster as he got closer and closer to reaching his peak. "Shit…ah, fuck!" he shrieked when Loki's palm slapped to his chest and short nails dug into his skin, tugging at the sparse hairs sprinkled across his pectorals.

"Ah…I'm gonna…c-come!" Loki's hand dropped to his cock, stroking and squeezing himself hard. "Ah, ah, ah…" his moans grew in frequency and pitch until his orgasm slammed into him and one long moan emanated from him as he shot his seed onto his chest and stomach.

Bucky kept going, not slowing a bit as Loki came. He had no plans to until Loki pushed at his chest.

"Ah…pull—pull out. Don't come inside me, come in my mouth."

With a gruff grunt, Bucky shuffled backwards as Loki slid out from under him and perched onto his knees in front of him. Before he could reach down and do it, Loki ripped off the condom and took Bucky all the way into his mouth. He glanced down and watched, fascinated, as Loki rubbed his leaking head over his lips then went down on him again, swallowing him completely. Bucky could feel his tongue, impossibly long and incredibly adept, flick along the underside of his cock, then concentrated on the head. One lick, two licks, three…and Bucky was done. With a loud harsh curse, Bucky shot his load down Loki's throat, whimpering as Loki's moans made his sensitive length vibrate, and once he started to soften, he fell, exhausted to the bed face first.

* * *

Bucky hadn't been lying on the bed, trying to catch his breath and slow his heart rate, for more than five minutes or so before Loki rose and headed into the bathroom. Bucky had gone still, surprised the man could walk straight after the thorough fucking he had just received. Eventually, he sat up himself and lit a cigarette, resting back against the headboard, and covered his lower half with the sheet. He remained there, smoking, and watched Loki after he exited the bathroom, crossing the room to pull on his jeans.

Bucky wanted to say something, make the air in the room feel a little less awkward, but his mind drew a blank. He hadn't really taken the time to admire more than Loki's face while they humped like bunnies, but watching him move, graceful and with purpose, the muscles of his back and arms and chest rolling and flexing drawing his eye, he was completely enthralled. He hurriedly closed his mouth when Loki cast a curious glance his way and smirked.

Loki rose again and moved back to the sink. Bucky watched him through the mirrored door of the closet as he rinsed his mouth, could feel arousal stirring in him once again as Loki stood there, in just his jeans, chest and feet bare, combing his fingers through his jet black hair.

"You from around here?" Bucky finally called out, the words surrounded with a plume of smoke. Loki shot him a look in the mirror.

"Why?"

Bucky shrugged. "You don't look familiar. I grew up here…"

Loki dried his hands and moved back into the room. He picked up his boots before dropping to the bed by Bucky's outstretched legs. "If you grew up here and I don't look familiar…" He paused then, and reached out to pluck the cigarette from between Bucky's lips, bringing it to his own and taking a long pull, then blew out the smoke in one long gray column. "Have you not answered your own question?"

"I guess I have," Bucky answered with a small laugh, taking back the cigarette when offered to him. "The accent's a bit of a tipoff, too." This close now, he could see Loki's eyes were not blue or green, but a mix. Something like viridian.

"Hmm," the young man hummed, blinking those pretty eyes away, and tugged on his socks and boots. Once he had them on, he stood from the bed, and picked up his discarded shirt.

"Do you come into town often?"

The room went dead silent again when Loki froze and stared down at Bucky for a long moment. "You ask a lot of questions," he finally said.

Bucky smirked around the cigarette he brought to his lips. "You avoid answering a lot of them," he said on the exhalation.

Loki's lips curved in a smirk again—he seemed fond of that, Bucky observed—as he slipped on his leather jacket. Still not responding, he turned away to pick up a set of keys that had fallen to the floor in their haste to get their clothes off. Bucky sat up in the bed, and found himself wanting to ask Loki to stay, but knew it was pointless to do it. The guy was already halfway out the door.

"So…thanks?"

Loki eyed him from the doorway for a moment before moving back into the room. He headed for the table beside the bed and scribbled something on the provided notepad, ripping the paper off once he had finished. Bucky moved to the edge of the bed, snatching up his boxer briefs, and hurriedly slipped them on as he rose to his feet.

Loki straightened and faced Bucky, flicking the piece of paper up between them. The former soldier took it and read the number scrawled across it before looking at the man who stood an inch or two above him, once more. "You sure?"

In answer, Loki tugged on Bucky's chin, bringing their mouths together, and kissed him deeply, but kept it short. "Call me. If you're ever lonely."

More than a little taken by surprise, Bucky watched him go with an amused grin across his lips. "I'll be here all weekend," he called out, stopping Loki at the door. "In case you're bored at all…"

Again, Loki smirked, sent him a playful wink, and disappeared.

* * *

Like he had told Loki he would do, Bucky remained in the motel room until late Sunday. He had spent his weekend alone, which wasn't what he had originally planned to do. But every time he went back to that app, before his phone inevitably died, he ended up abandoning his search. He hadn't felt like company. A part of him felt guilty for that; he should have called Steve back, should have let his parents—or at least his mother—know that he was all right, that he hadn't died in a ditch somewhere.

And he did some thinking. About his life and the direction it was taking; or lack thereof. He thought about the supermarket job. Being a bag boy was fine for a high school punk looking to make some extra money. But what the hell was he going to do now, as a nearly thirty year old former G.I? Fuck, what if they made him a cashier?

He might as well have finished the job he started two months before.

By the end of the weekend, after sleeping on it, crying about it, punching his fist repeatedly into a pillow over it, Bucky had made his decision.

He stopped at the front office and paid off his bill then started the walk home. It took him a good forty-five minutes to reach the little beige and burgundy house, his resentment toward his parents, and his own self-hatred, making his mood grow darker and darker with each step that drew him closer to his childhood home.

Once there, Bucky strolled through the front door, directly to the dining table, where his parents were sitting, enjoying their evening meal in relative silence. His father spotted him first, his fork halting halfway to his mouth when he had. His mother noticed his father's frozen state and followed his gaze, smiling when she saw Bucky in the doorway.

"Bucky, do you—?"

"Let's get this straight; I'm not taking the job because you're forcing me, too," he blurted out, ignoring the pang of guilt at cutting off his mother. "I'm taking it because I want to earn my own money and not live off you two. And the minute I've saved enough, I'm getting out of this place. Is that good with you?"

He didn't want for an answer. He pivoted on his heel, like a trained soldier would, and quietly, climbed the steps to get to his bedroom, and disappeared for the rest of the night.


	3. Screwed

**A/N: Don't even ask me how or why this came so quickly! Hope you're all enjoying it so far. Any comments or questions are welcomed! :)**

**XOXO, LaLa**

**P.S. I do introduce Natasha in this chapter, but I have to warn that I have made her a little OOC. She's not a major character, but I had to shape her for the part here and it's not at all like the Natasha Romanov we know and love. So don't send me hate. That was your warning.**

* * *

Bucky was awake and dressed bright and early that Monday morning, and ready to go to work. He wasn't by any means excited; simply resigned to the fact that this was something he was going to do, like it or not. Not to please his father or anyone else—however right his parents were that he needed to do _something_ with himself. Though, he was kind of looking forward to having some spending money in his pockets again.

Winifred had risen early as well, to make Bucky a big breakfast. He wasn't much of a breakfast food person, so he had decided he would let her know she didn't have to do that every morning. George was up, too. Sitting at the dining table, sipping from a mug of hot coffee, and pretending to read the morning paper. Pretending, Bucky knew, because he could feel his eyes heavy on him, watching him like a hawk. Wondering, likely, how long it would be until Bucky was using again.

George was going to be disappointed this time around.

* * *

When Bucky arrived at the store, the current owner, Ivan—who was just a high-ranking employee when Bucky had started, being the son of the then-owner—was waiting for him with a big smile and a small welcoming gift: a name tag that read in small block letters "JAMES." And beneath that in smaller letters, "_Front End Supervisor_."

_What?_ Mixed feelings of pleasant surprise and rising panic had Bucky tugging at the collar of his button up white shirt. This was going to be a challenge.

Bucky spent the majority of his morning learning the basics: the layout of the store—slightly different from when he worked there in high school; how delivery and distribution was processed and by whom, and other important processes. The store had expanded in the thirteen years since he had worked there. A separate bakery and deli were added and more checklanes. It was less a mom-and-pop run operation now, closer to one of those big chain supermarkets. Bucky had to admit he was a little impressed with what Ivan had done with the place. Ivan introduced him to the few morning employees working, and by the time his first break rolled around, Bucky already felt exhausted.

After his lunch break, Bucky was shut away in one of the newly built interview rooms to watch the mandatory work safety and new employee expectations videos, and he quickly read through the employee manual. Paperwork was taken care of, he was provided with an extra name tag, three shirts, and three plain red ties. When he had finally emerged, eyes tired and a little blurry, he had just about two and a half hours left on his shift.

He was summoned to the front of the store, where his duties were explained, and introduced to the cashiers he would be supervising. One of them was Ivan's daughter, Natasha. A kid when Bucky worked as a bagboy, Natasha had just graduated from high school, recently turned eighteen, and was quite the beauty, with burgundy curls cascading down her back and hypnotizing mossy green eyes.

She batted long auburn eyelashes at Bucky when Ivan reintroduced them, and held onto his hand a little longer than was necessary. Bucky wasn't a stranger to turning down the advances of women; he'd had to do it since his teen years—because apparently, he didn't "look gay enough," whatever that was supposed to mean. But in the few times he had had to do that, he never felt like the woman was ready to pounce on him, knowing he was gay or not. Not until Natasha.

Bucky sighed softly, a little put out, when Ivan excused himself to answer a call from the back office, leaving him alone with his very grown-up daughter. Great.

"Can I ask you a question?"

_Wow_. Her voice was as seductive as the rest of her. Soft, husky, deep for a woman's voice, and meant to draw her subject in. Before the kill. Like a freaking spider or something, Bucky thought to himself. "Shoot," he said with a lazy smile. He stiffened a little when she moved in closer.

"Is it true you went to rehab?" she asked in an even lower voice, fixing him with a very direct gaze.

Bucky's dark brows drew together before one cocked up over a slightly narrowed blue eye. "Yeah, I went. Why?"

She shrugged a shoulder, the fingers of one hand toying with the damp sponge stuck in the rack holding the plastic bags. "I've just never known anyone who's been in rehab before. What were you in there for?"

He chuckled darkly, leaning one hand on the counter next to the bags. "What, that wasn't a part of the gossip?"

Her lips curved up on one side, giving her a very femme fatale look, and she crossed her ankles, standing in the small space of her register cubicle, leaning forward a little more. Bucky's gaze automatically dropped to the peek of cleavage she was displaying. He caught himself and quickly looked away. "You know how it goes. It all gets so mixed up passing from mouth to mouth. It's a different story every time you hear it."

"Yeah? Give me some examples." Bucky crossed his arms, amused and even a little intrigued to hear the rumors being spread about him.

"Hmm," Natasha hummed, tossing her hair over her shoulder, throwing her eyes up, exposing the column of her throat. Bucky nearly laughed. Boy, was she barking up the wrong tree. "Some people said you were a drunk, some people said you were a drug addict. There was talk of you even being a sex addict." She chuckled, bringing her eyes back to Bucky. He shook his head and she rolled her eyes a little. "A few people said you were forced to go for beating up some guy."

"What?" Bucky squeaked, before composing himself again. "No, no. It wasn't anything like that."

Natasha nodded and bit her lip before flicking her eyes up again. "Is the suicide rumor true?"

Bucky went completely still, staring at the redhead, his mouth half hanging open. He realized in that very moment why he had been secluding himself from everyone since he had returned from overseas. He had been avoiding these type of questions, these annoying probes into his private life. Into his mistakes.

The guilt he carried weighed heavily on him every minute, that it was his mother who found him, passed out in his bed that day. Had it not been the middle of the afternoon, she might have left him alone, believing he was just asleep. But being the mother that she was, she wanted to talk to him and had moved closer to wake him. That was when she found him lying next to a blood stain that had been seeping into his sheets and eventually his mattress.

Bucky remembered the pain was much worse than he had expected and had only broken the skin, very artificially, of one wrist. He had eventually passed out and when he came to, he was in a hospital bed, his arms held down in restraints against the railing of the bed. They thought he was crazy. He couldn't blame them, really; but he wasn't. He was just…done.

He wondered if his silence was answer enough for Natasha. Thankfully, Ivan beckoned him over before he had a chance to respond.

"We have a new employee starting today, James," he said excitedly. He angled his head. "Did you ever work on a register?"

"Rarely, sir. I mostly stuck with bagging the groceries. And helping the ladies to their cars," he added with a cheeky smile and an anxious chuckle. Natasha's question had rattled him. Ivan eyed him pointedly for a brief moment.

"James. Uh…" He motioned for Bucky to follow him and moved away from any eavesdropping ears, whether they be employee or customer. "I hoped I wouldn't have to bring this up, but…" He stopped, faced Bucky, and set his eyes on him. They were more blue than green, compared to Natasha's, but no less direct. "I don't really know how to say this, but to say it." He paused briefly, then said, "You show up here even once drunk or high, you're outta here. You got me?"

Bucky's lips parted and he covered a gasp with a cough. "Yeah—yes, sir. Yes—I. I understand."

"Good." He slapped a hand to Bucky's back and shot a glance over his shoulder. "Ah! Come meet your new cashier." Bucky let him slide away from him, taking a minute to gather himself, before pivoting around and moving to Ivan's side. And laughed out loud. Really loud.

The new cashier was his one-night stand. _The new cashier was his one-night stand_.

The statement was repeating in his head and he cleared his throat, smiling briefly at Ivan before thrusting his hand out toward Loki. "Hi. I'm your new supervisor."

Loki didn't react right away, his viridian eyes flicking between Ivan and Bucky and back and forth. Finally, he smirked softly—_goddamn it_—and slipped his hand into Bucky's. "Hello. I am…your new cashier," he said in that sexy little voice that had a chill running up Bucky's spine. He cleared his throat and started to tug his hand back. Loki held onto it, still smirking at him, before sliding his fingers away, gliding along Bucky's palm.

"Right. Loki this is James. And James…"

"Loki, hi," he finished, his jaw clenching, his eyes boring into Loki's smug, beautiful face. _What? Stop it, Bucky_.

"James, was it?" Loki asked with a tilt of his head, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. Bucky only nodded and tapped a finger to his name tag.

"All right, well, Loki, this is James' first day, too. And…" Ivan glanced at his thick black watch. "He doesn't have much longer to go on his first day. You two can get to know each other later. James, Loki is going to be on the midday shifts, two to six, most days, and some weekends, yes?" He looked to Loki for confirmation and the young man nodded. "He's one of our part-timers since he's got school to keep up with."

_Jesus Fucking Christ_, Bucky screamed in his head. How old was this guy? A line of sweat ran down his spine and he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. At least, so far he was acting like he had never set those bright eyes on Bucky before.

"For today, I'm going to have you shadow Natasha and she'll instruct you on the register, okay? James, give me a moment."

Bucky nodded as Ivan led Loki to Natasha's register. He turned away for a minute, running a palm over his face, adjusting his tie, and taking a few deep breaths. Calmer now, Bucky assured himself it would be okay. It was one night. One night of _awesome_ sex. One night of awesome sex that he wouldn't mind repeating. Bucky chuckled to himself and looked toward the registers. His smile disappeared and a curious feeling coursed through him, had his fingers clenching into fists.

Loki seemed to be hitting it off with Natasha. And Natasha was flirting like crazy, Bucky could tell. She batted her eyes up at the taller man, like she had with Bucky, and she kept touching him; his arm, his hand, his back. Bucky jolted at the sound of a growl and realized it was coming from his own throat. He started again when Ivan called his name and flicked one last glance toward Loki and Natasha. Just his luck, Loki caught the look, twitched his lips, and winked before returning his attention to the redhead pulling him around the register. Gritting his teeth, Bucky followed Ivan back to the offices.

* * *

The last hour of Bucky's shift stretched on forever. He thought four o'clock was never going to come. When it finally did, when he was able to swipe that time card through the machine and get the time stamp, he tugged off his tie, and headed to the break room for a cup of coffee before he headed home.

But when he stepped into the small room, furnished with a round table, two sofas, a television suspended high in a corner, and a counter with a sink, a coffeemaker, and a toaster, Bucky came to a stuttering halt. Loki was there, his back to the door, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Setting his jaw, the former soldier marched directly to him.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded in the firmest voice he could muster.

Loki didn't stop, didn't pause, didn't hesitate at all. He simply set down the coffeepot and blandly answered, "Working."

Bucky grabbed Loki's arm, tugging him back when he started to reach for the cream. "You know what I mean. You didn't tell me you lived here or that you were working here." He could see the curve of Loki's lips as he mixed cream and sugar into his coffee. He brought the cup to his lips before turning a little to look at Bucky over the rim of the plastic cup.

"Is it your habit to share that much information with the men you spend a night with?"

Bucky jerked back a little. "No! I just…" he sighed, impatiently, casting a cautious glance around the room, though they were the only two in it at the moment. "Loki, just tell me one thing."

"Anything…_James_." His lips were curved behind the cup as he sipped. His face suddenly scrunched and he set the cup aside. "Ugh. I miss tea."

"Hey, listen to me." Loki's head whipped around at Bucky's sharp tone, a slim black brow cocking high over his eye, giving him an almost regal look. "How old are you?" Bucky's heart raced, anticipating Loki's answer. What if he was still in his teens? God, did that make Bucky one of those creepy old men who went after young guys? He had had a twink or two in his time, mostly when he was in his early twenties, but he didn't like them _that_ young.

Infuriatingly, Loki laughed softly, those pale red lips curving up again.

"Loki—" Bucky cleared his throat and turned to the sink to pretend to wash his hands as a few of the other employees walked into the room. He muttered a curse to himself when Loki wandered away from the counter. How was he supposed to talk to him now? Remembering that he had Loki's number, Bucky slid into a chair at the table and pulled out his cell phone.

_**how old are u?**_

Bucky looked up, peeking from under dark lashes, watching Loki closely. He heard the faint _buzz, buzz_ of Loki's phone and kept his icy eyes on him as he reached for and read the text. He was so concentrated on Loki he almost jumped out of his chair when his phone jumped against the table. He smiled faintly at the two people who sent him quizzical looks.

_Who is this?_

_**very funny. how old?**_

Bucky's leg bounced with impatience. Loki was taking way too long to answer and it made his brow furrow in concern. Shit, what if he was really young?

_I fail to see why this is important. I am 24._

"Oh, thank god!" Bucky exclaimed out loud. Every head in the room turned to him, including Loki's—his lips pinched together to hold in his muffled laughing—and he simply sent them all a dazzling smile. He turned away a little, twisting so he sat sideways on the chair, keeping his phone hidden beneath the table.

_**you look rly young. has anyone ever told u that?**_

_No. I have to return to the front end now._

Bucky coughed loudly, waiting for Loki to catch his eye before he left the room. When their gazes met, Bucky motioned to his phone. Loki rolled his green-blue eyes and headed for the sink, taking the time to throw his abandoned coffee down the drain, and throw away his cup.

_**what time u off? can we meet up later? to talk.**_

Loki sighed loudly, shortly, and Bucky worried he had just upset him. Again, his impatience surged at Loki's hesitation to respond quickly.

_My shift ends at 6. Send me the directions to where you'd like to meet. Talk later._

Eyes following Loki out of the room, Bucky felt a small sliver of relief. At least he knew for sure now that Loki was a consenting adult. He sat for another minute, feeling his smile grow wider and wider at the idea that he would be seeing Loki again.

* * *

Bucky decided to meet up with Loki at the park he had gone to the night of Steve's gala. It was neutral; open to the public, likely other people would be milling around, and the best part was that it wasn't a hotel room. Bucky didn't need any _more_ temptation.

Loki's face was enough.

He returned home to drop off his new uniform items, scarfed down the dinner his mother had left for him, and after deftly avoiding having to rehash his day for his parents, Bucky slipped out and drove to the park. He was early, about twenty minutes or so, but it gave him time to steel himself for seeing Loki. The man—the _younger_ man—had had quite the effect on him, Bucky had realized. But he was determined to do well at this new job and he couldn't afford to let a hot piece of ass lead him astray. Again. They had to set ground rules. And he would have to go read through that employee manual again, to double check the store's stance on fraternization. Not that he planned to continue seeing Loki—depending on what happened tonight, at least. But it was always better to be safe.

He sat atop of one of the stone picnic tables, scanning the text messages from Steve that he had yet to answer. Steve wanted him to come over for dinner sometime that week, or go out somewhere, jus the two of them, if he was more comfortable. Bucky wasn't sure he was up for that yet. He was contemplating an answer when the rumbling purr of an engine caught his ear.

He glanced up to see the most pristine black vintage Trans-Am he had ever seen, park itself a few feet away from him. And to his surprise, Loki climbed out of the driver's seat. Changed already into a dark green t-shirt, black jeans and that leather jacket, Loki spotted him and tossed his dark shades back into the car before making his way toward Bucky.

Bucky watched him; the sway of his hips, the confidence in his gait. Loki was hot and he knew it. The former soldier realized he was staring with his mouth open and quickly snapped his teeth together. "Hey," he greeted softly once Loki reached him.

Loki propped a booted foot on the concrete slab the table was bolted to, and cocked his head. "Evening," he returned in that silky smooth voice.

"Um, thanks…for coming."

"I agreed to speak with you, didn't I?" Bucky nodded, swallowing hard. "You were concerned about my age; you know now how old I am. What more did you have to say?"

Bucky blinked and had to look away. He had been staring at Loki's mouth through his entire short speech. He kept picturing it wrapped around his cock and falling open in silent screams and moans as Bucky fucked him. _Damn it_, he thought when he felt himself growing hard with the memories. "I'm not too sure at the moment…," he breathed out on a soft, breathless laugh.

"May I ask _you_ a question?" He flicked up smoky blue eyes, peeking through his lashes, and nodded. He tensed a little when Loki stepped fully onto the concrete from the grass, towering over him. "It is a bit personal." His voice was even lower now and Bucky gritted his teeth when his cock twitched again. He quickly motioned for Loki to continue. "Are you out of the closet?"

Bucky went still. It wasn't the question he was expecting; though frankly, he didn't know what to expect with this kid. His lips parted to answer in the affirmative but he couldn't bring himself to say it. He sighed shortly, shrugging, and looking away. "Sort of," he finally said. "It's complicated."

"Oh, I doubt that," the raven-haired man replied with a smirk. "Do the people closest to you know that you prefer to sleep with men?"

Bucky's gaze darted to the woman with two children sitting at the next nearest bench. She looked affronted and pushed her fingers into her son's arm when he turned around to look at Bucky. He chuckled anxiously and looked around, spotting the beginning of the jogging path. "Why don't we go finish this conversation where it's a little less crowded?"

Loki's eyes rolled a little. "Lead the way."

Bucky jumped down from the bench, shoved his phone in his back pocket and started toward the dirt path that circled around the edge of the park, hidden in parts by trees and thick bushes. At this time of the day, late afternoon, sun setting, and fewer people around, the track would be all but deserted, but for a few night joggers.

They walked quietly for a bit, in what would appear from the outside to be a comfortable silence. Just two guys walking in a companionable manner. But Bucky was anything but fully comfortable. In fact, he felt a bit dumbstruck. He wasn't one to be nervous or shy around anyone, and was often the aggressor in most of his couplings. He couldn't fathom what it was about Loki that had his palms sweating just a bit and his heart thumping rather rapidly.

And yet…he was kind of digging it. Spotting an old tree stump a few yards ahead of them, Bucky headed straight for it and dropped to it when he reached it. Loki paused and eyed him with an amused expression.

"Are you intending to hold court?" he joked, slipping his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. He looked even leaner as his hips cocked up on one side.

Bucky laughed. "No."

"Would you like to explain to me what is so complicated about your sexual orientation?"

He looked down at his hands, laced together between his knees, chuckling to himself. It was an odd question, to say the least. "Not really. I'd rather us figure out what we're going to do."

"About…?"

Bucky threw out his hands, flipping the palms upward. "Well. You and…me." That didn't sound awkward at all. "I mean, we work together now. What are we gonna do?"

Loki cocked his head, shrugged his shoulders quite nonchalantly. "What do you _want_ to do…James?"

"Well, I—" Another nervous chuckle escaped through his lips when he realized what Loki called him. "You know, you can just call me Bucky like everyone else."

"I am not everyone else," Loki stated matter-of-factly. "And I rather like James." Loki's lips curved ever so slightly, a brow twitched. And Bucky felt his stomach do a tiny, insignificant flip. He sighed. Boy, was he in trouble.

"That's…that's fine. I don't really mind…" His voice trailed off and he lowered his head when he felt his cheeks grow warm.

"Are you going to answer my question?" Bucky's eyes rose to Loki's then quickly lowered to his chest. Shit, he couldn't even look him in the eye. "What do you _want_ to do?"

He looked at his hands again, the fingers of one hand picking at the thumbnail of the other, nervously. "I don't know," he finally answered, honestly. He froze when three pale fingers slipped under his chin and tilted his face up. Bucky forced himself to maintain eye contact this time.

"Do you want me again, James?"

Unable to stop himself, Bucky's gaze slowly wandered down the length of Loki's body, pausing and focusing for a moment at the slight bulge between his legs. Absently, his tongue slid between his lips. He looked up again as Loki's hand firmed under his chin and started to draw him to his feet. "Loki, I…" he quieted when Loki chuckled and moved his hand to his neck, bringing their mouths closer to together.

"Cease your over-thinking. Just answer the question." He murmured the words against Bucky's mouth, his cool breath fanning over Bucky's skin, his lips just brushing his. Bucky swallowed to ease the dryness in his throat, simultaneously breathing in each of Loki's slow exhales, his tongue poking out to curl up, reaching for Loki's top lip.

"Yes…" He had barely breathed out the word before Loki closed the distance between them, catching Bucky's bottom lip between his, sucking lightly through Bucky's soft moan. Then his face was between both of Loki's hands and the kiss was being deepened, Loki's long tongue dipping into his mouth, tangling with his own. His fingers tightened against the leather of Loki's jacket at his sides, one sliding over the curve of his ass to grab on tightly.

Distantly, Bucky could hear the trotting footsteps of a jogger and reluctantly pulled apart from Loki just as the woman passed them. Loki licked his swollen lips, his chest rising and falling beneath the jacket, his eyes never leaving him. Bucky grinned. "Motel?"

"Gods, yes."

* * *

While the walk on a dead night from the park to the motel had taken Bucky a good twenty to twenty-five minutes, the drive took decidedly less time. Like two bats out of hell, Bucky and Loki raced, a couple of speed demons in separate cars, to the motel. Bucky rushed into the front office to get the key for the same room, telling Loki to meet him at the door. Once he had joined him, clothes were already being shed before they got the door open; pants were halfway down long legs as the door was kicked closed. They fell to the bed together in a tangle of limbs, kicking off clothes and groping for body parts.

They mated fast and rough and sweaty, tearing up the sheets—and eventually sliding off with them to continue on the hard floor. Bruises and bite marks left a trail, a map, on Loki's pale body where Bucky had been, and by the time they both reached their climaxes, his body had been stretched every which way, and he knew he would feel it for days to come.

Eventually, they found their way back on to the mattress; Loki stretched out, combing his fingers through Bucky's mussed brown hair, as his new boss rested his head on his stomach, lazily puffing away on the single joint Loki had brought with him. Bucky hesitated at first, realizing it likely wasn't a great idea to be smoking anything more than a regular cigarette, but then he remembered that marijuana didn't do much to him but relax him. And with the way his heart was racing, he could use the relaxation.

Exhaling one long stream of smoke, Bucky handed off the marijuana cigarette to Loki. "We should probably set some ground rules," Bucky murmured, lifting his arms over his head to stretch, then rest over Loki's body.

"For what?"

"For…this, us. I mean, am I wrong in assuming you want to continue to do this?" Bucky waited for the response, his head rising as Loki inhaled, lowering again on his exhale. But there was only silence. "Loki?"

"Hmm?"

Bucky turned up his head to look at the man, just bringing the cigarette to his lips once more, and felt himself stirring with need again. Damn. "Am I? Or…what do you think?"

"Of…?"

"The ground rules," he answered with a chuckle. "Do you still want to do this?"

Loki's eyes, dark in the dim light, flicked down to him before returning to the ceiling again, his lips barely parting to exhale the smoke. "To be perfectly honest, I am not sure I understand the need for rules, James. And, yes, I would still like to…do this."

Bucky grinned and flipped onto his stomach, shifting up to drape himself over Loki's body. He pulled the sheet aside, baring Loki's naked body to the cool air and slid a leg between his, straddling one of his shapely thighs. "Don't think of them as rules, then. Think of them as…guidelines."

Loki's body rumbled beneath him when he laughed. "We are not pirates on the _Black Pearl_, James."

Bucky threw his head back on a short bark of laughter, biting his lip as he brought his eyes back to Loki's. "Glad you caught that reference." He moved his mouth toward Loki's hand and the younger man lowered the cigarette between his fingers to Bucky's lips.

"What guidelines did you have in mind?"

Bucky turned his head to exhale and shrugged. "Don't flirt with me at work. That should be kind of obvious, right?"

"That depends on what you mean by 'flirting,' I think." His lips curved behind the cigarette and Bucky pointed a finger at him.

"That! That right there. You can't smile at me like that. Or wink at me like you did earlier today."

Loki's stomach trembled with his laughter. "Why? Does it make you want me?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, but couldn't keep the smile from his face. "Maybe…"

"Mmm," he hummed, lifting one leg to rub his thigh and the bottom of his foot against Bucky's, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. "Would you have me at work?"

"No!" Bucky squeaked again on a laugh, and laughed harder because he squeaked again. What the hell was up with that? "That's exactly what I'm talking about, Loki. I don't know what the store's deal is on employees dating—especially a supervisor and an underling." He snorted at Loki's offended look. "I'm serious. You can't be smiling at me like that and getting me all hot and bothered when I'm supposed to be all managerial and shit."

"You really would not just take the initiative and drag me into the refrigerator, behind the milk, and have your way with me." Bucky gasped softly when Loki lifted himself up, pressing against him, rolling his hips, brushing their cocks together. "We could add a new brand of cream to the shelf," he added with a suggestive bob of his brows.

Bucky snickered and covered his face. "Wow. Well…as sweet as it tastes…" he drifted off, becoming a little more serious. "Loki, I can't lose this job," he murmured, trailing the pads of his fingers across Loki's chest, drawing them down the center. "It's…kind of my last chance. With a lot of things I don't want to get into right now."

He peeked up when Loki curled a finger under his chin. "I was only…I understand. I will keep my hands to myself. I have a suggestion for you." He punctuated his statement with a tap to Bucky's nose. Bucky nodded for him to continue. "Don't treat me any differently. No special treatment. Not that I plan to be, but if I happen to be late, you give the proper punishment then and there. And, perhaps, you can punish me later here. Ah!" His body bucked up when Bucky playfully pinched his nipple and he let out the shrillest screeching laugh. "Don't!"

Bucky pushed all of his weight down on Loki, to keep him in place, and slammed his arms down to the bed by his forearms. "Oh, I'm sorry. You weren't asking to be punished now?" Loki giggled, twisting his hips to try to shove Bucky off of him.

"Mm, well, you've already pounded me into the floor. You're welcome to pound me into the bed as well." He breathed in sharply, biting his lip again, as Bucky shoved his legs up, spreading them wide and cradling his arms beneath them.

"Have you always been this flexible?" Bucky tilted his head back, moving just out of reach of Loki's seeking mouth.

"Am I? May I put the cigarette down? I would hate to have to pay for burnt sheets."

Bucky grinned. "That's nice; I like the way you asked for permission." Loki smiled coyly and the ex-soldier began to slowly lower his mouth.

"Well. I wouldn't want to…anger you." Their lips barely touched, parted and wet, teasing. Loki's tongue flicked out to lick at Bucky's teeth, and the older man groaned. "Who is to know what you might do to me?" he whispered huskily. "Perhaps…spank me? Ohhh…" he breathed as Bucky started to rock against him, his cock gliding roughly along his entrance.

"Take a puff. Then put the cigarette down." He released Loki's arm, a thrill coursing through him at the way Loki's pupils dilated at his command. Loki brought the joint to his parted lips, inhaling deeply, holding it in as he reached over to set it in the ashtray he had found in the drawer.

When he was certain it was set down, Bucky forced Loki's head around and covered his mouth with his own, dragging his lips apart with a thumb on his chin. Loki released the smoke into Bucky's mouth, both moaning with it, their tongues dueling, as his hand slid to the back of Bucky's head, holding him in place, and their bodies rocked faster. He dropped his chin, gasping out, and Bucky pressed his lips to his cheek.

"Oh, that was awesome…" Bucky moaned, pushing up onto his fists to thrust his hips faster against Loki's ass, the younger man's hands falling first to his shoulders then sliding down to his sides.

"Mnh…! J-James. Now. I want you inside me now."

Bucky lowered himself completely onto Loki; their mouths met in a messy, wet kiss as he reached down to guide his cock to Loki's hole and pushed himself inside him, groaning as he slid in to the hilt. "Fuck, Loki."

"Yes…! Yes…! Mmnh!" Loki's fingers clenched tightly in Bucky's short hair, his other hand reaching up to press into the headboard behind him, pushing his ass down onto Bucky's cock. They started to rock faster, their moans, sighs, and hisses growing in pitch and volume. "D'you…s-still not…want to have me l-l-like this…at work?" Loki asked between gasps, eyes glinting with mischief just before rolling back in his head.

Taken back by the question, and Loki's timing, Bucky could only laugh. "Shut up, Loki. I'll fuck you…" he paused to growl, pumping into him even faster. "Any. Way. You. Want. After!"

Loki's responding whine, and the yanking on his hair, made him cry out, his fingers tightening, leaving more bruises around Loki's once flawless thighs. Loki reached down between them to stroke himself, his hand moving in time with his thrusts until, inevitably, his body went as taut as a bow string, and with hardly a sound he came all over his stomach and chest. Bucky didn't slow, even as Loki's contented moans finally sounded, his orgasm just beginning to build, his hips snapping into Loki erratically, until one last deep thrust had him stilling as he came, his body twitching with each spurt. He collapsed, exhausted, onto Loki's damp chest, listening to the heart racing beneath his ear.

"That was…that was…"

"Too much for you, old man?"

"Ha, ha. I'm not _that_ old, kid. But, damn. I could have a heart attack if we keep going at this rate." He breathed out a soft hum, feeling Loki's fingers card through his damp locks again. He was fond of doing that. Bucky didn't know if it was because it was a habit or if he just really liked his hair. He enjoyed it, but it was starting to feel a little too intimate. Though it made his worked muscles ache, Bucky rolled off of Loki and sat up on the edge of the bed. "I need a hot shower."

"Need help washing your back?"

Bucky shivered and chuckled softly at the fingers skittering up his spine. "The point is to get clean, Loki."

"You will. Eventually. You may just get a little dirtier first. Hmm?" He bobbed his brows when Bucky glanced down at him. Bucky's resistance wasn't very strong with this one.

"Go get it started. I'll be there in a minute." Loki smiled smugly and sat up, leaning close to press an affectionate kiss to Bucky's lips. He didn't seem to notice the way the former soldier-turned-supervisor stiffened.

"Don't be long." The bed jolted and bounced as Loki climbed off and made his way into the bathroom. Bucky waited to hear the start of the shower before letting out the long breath he was holding, and relaxing again.

Briefly, he gave himself a pep talk; told himself to tread carefully. It wasn't highly recommended to get involved with someone, in any capacity, so soon after leaving rehab. But he found he didn't really care. He liked Loki. There was something about him that just drew Bucky in, and it wasn't as simple as his looks, he knew. Yes, he was handsome and sexy. But for a twenty-four year old, Loki seemed incredibly worldly and independent. And mature. Bucky wondered about things: where he lived, where he went to school; did he have any family? But it was way too soon to be asking those questions. They had only known each other for three days, after all. There was plenty of time to find those things out.

Bucky shook his head sharply. He had to stop himself from thinking about this being any more than what it was: really great sex. Loki didn't strike him as the relationship type, anyway. And at the moment, a strictly physical relationship would suit Bucky just fine.

_"James…"_

Bucky took a quick drag off the marijuana cigarette before rising from the bed. For some reason, he really liked that Loki called him by his given name, he thought as he joined Loki in the shower.

_Fuck_. He was screwed.


End file.
